Veil Over a Dark World
by Yvanna Silverstream
Summary: Small vignettes between Anders and F!Hawke. In no particular order, just little scenes I have in mind. Endless fluff and angst!
1. Chapter 1

_AAARGH! I've been mercielssly assaulted by endless numbers of plot bunnies ever since I've finished DA2I Even though I preferred Anders as he is portrayed in Awakening, I'm a sucker for well written angst, and this little brain-fart came up. I just had to get it out of my head! This might be slightly spoiler-ish, even though there's nothing mentioned straightforward. _

_Also, this piece was written with a particular song in mind, namely, "While your lips are still red" by Nightwish. I strongly recomend listening to it before or while reading this :) It might clear up the "artistic mumbo jumbo" I have going on here. But I'm babbling again. _

_Enjoy a little angsty romance :P_

* * *

Even the best of us are afraid of something. Sometimes, the most noble, fearless of people are afraid of the mundane things in life. **She** was afraid of words. Tiny little words that tasted so sweet on his tongue, words she had never heard before, words that he was forbidden, lest she slipped from his grasp. Too late had he realized, she knew. She could feel things he had never said. Words had no meaning between them; she had **lived** his love for her.

She was young, too young for the world to be resting on her shoulders. Even as she struggled to appear strong and unwavering for her companions, for the people of Kirkwall, he could swear he saw the fear, the terror in her eyes, hidden just below the mantle of responsibility. She had never fallen in love before, he could tell that from the way she flustered whenever a flattering remark reached her, from the delightful blush that colored her cheeks when he had first mentioned her beauty. To a man deprived of physical and social contact for so long, it was pure torture. Knowing that he could so easily have her, body and soul, was almost his undoing. But the knowledge that should he have her, he would, eventually, shatter her heart into so many pieces they could be passed through the eye of a needle, it would kill him as sure as a blade to his heart. But then he sees her smile at him, and that moment alone is worth a thousand deaths.

He would never forget the first time he'd seen her fight. The deadly accuracy and predatory grace she possessed placed on display for all to see and fear. The skill with which she handled her blades, drawing silver ribbons in the air distracting the eye long enough for her to slit the throat, only served to remind him that she could end him just as easily if need be. He held on to that belief, knowing that day would come, when she would have to choose. But still, what he always admired at her was her hair. A dark mane of waves pinned up at the top of her head with a straight twig. He found himself wondering just how long could it be. Only once had he seen her wear it down and even then by accident, after a particularly nasty fight. The raven curls cascaded over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. He stared aghast as the ocean winds swept it from her face, making it flutter wildly around her like the banners of some great fortress. That was the way he wanted to remember her, not the battered, bruised shell of a woman that she would become after he and the world were done with her. How he ached to run his hands through her hair, to ensnare it, to feel her lean into his touch as he did so. But it is not meant to be, he tells himself. She deserves far better than him.

He now lays awake at night, thinking of her, praying that maybe she is as well and then admonishing himself for doing so. He dreams of her. Of how those deft hands would feel pressed to his skin, of those nimble fingers raking through his hair. Of how it would be like to be free, if only for a moment. How it would be like to bury his face in her raven locks and feel everything else fall away. To be able to love her the way she deserves to be, free of his duty to the mages, his hatred of templars and fear of himself. He chases the dreams away, but they always come back and haunt him.

When he wakes up in that cave, her words ringing in his mind and his heart lurching, the only thing he knows is that he is a monster. He… He is the thing that should not be, that should never have been in the first place. Yet she does not blame him. She insists that she trusts him, that he can and **will** keep control. And for her sake, he believes her. He believes her to believe in himself.

A few days later, she comes to his clinic, alone and unarmed, and is heart throbs painfully in his chest at the sight, at the living proof of her trust in him. She speaks to him as easily as any other day, and he marvels at the control she has over her feelings. Aware or not, she still ends up arousing him to no end. He warns her off, one last time. Still she refuses to back down. She avoids his eyes and worries her bottom lip back and forth between her teeth. He feels the heat rising up from his stomach and the blood pulsing in his ears at the sight. In a rush of emotions, he pulls her against him, pinning her between his body and the wall, roughly claiming her lips in a desperate attempt to sate his thirst of her, but silently begging for her to push him away, to run and never look back. She does not. Instead she kisses him back, a loving, tender contrast to his raging need of her, and it only makes him want her more. He holds back, tries to rein himself in, but her face as he pulls away, her closed eyes and swollen parted lips, the soft, whispery gasps she makes are enough to drive him to the worst choice he could possibly make. Falling in love with her, utterly and completely.

The look of relief on her face as he enters her chambers shows him how fearful she truly is. Blue eyes meet his worried gaze and he sees the compassion, the love he does not deserve swimming just beneath the glassy surface. He can't bear it. How blind can she be? To see the man but not the monster he is, to love him so decisively, so purely. And he is about to taint it all, her love, her faith in him, **her**. She embraces him softly, but it still feels like she's trapped him. He holds her, kisses her, worships her the way he knows best. He claims her for himself. As long as her blood still flutters in her veins, as long as her heart beats against his chest and as long as it's his name that falls from her lips in the midst of rapture, she is his. While this night still lasts, and while the dreaded dawn is still a lifetime away.


	2. Of Damnation and Redemption

So, apparently the plot bunnies haven't left me alone, and I was in need of some serious angst right about now, (My life is going way too good to be true, so I had to make up something miserable. I'm a sick person, I know.) Anyway, here you go! One fluffy/angsty bit of romance, fresh from the oven!

Enjoy!

* * *

He realized he had fallen asleep. His heavy eyelids opened to the cold harsh reality of the creaky barn. The rough haystack that served as his bed for the night was almost soaked from the rain that managed to rattle through. The rain...

Anders frowned, trying to pull his thoughts together. Why rain? Why cold? He hated the rain; he hated the creaky old barn he found himself in. But why was he there..? A tear stained face bloomed in front of his mind's eye. Tara.

His heart shrank to a grain of sand. His eyes exploded open once again, desperately looking for her, tossing and turning, his mind racing. His gaze turned to the exit of the barn. There she stood; her head half tilted, resting on the wall, with her back turned at him. She had her arms wrapped around her, as if trying to keep herself warm.

His eyes shifted to the floor. He couldn't even look at her. His mind was running wild, guilt and fear assaulting him. He did not fight it off as he did in the past, under the false pretense that justice and change need to be forced. He allowed it to slowly take root and bloom, twisting and coiling around his heart like a garrote. He deserved it, and worse. He should have been torn apart, his soul scattered to the winds of the Fade.

Weeks after the mindless slaughter in Kirkwall, he felt remorse. Not only for what he had done, for the innocent lives he took and the blood on his hands. But for what he was doing now. She was here now because of him. She had lost everything because of him. Her family, her home... she had almost lost her life because of his recklessness. Why? What did she ever do to deserve this? Why did he allow her to get involved with him..?

He tried to remember that night. The night she came to him, alone; the night she professed her love to him, the night he had first kissed her, and how she melted into his arms, the way she gasped his name in rapture, the determination in her eyes as she promised to stand by him even if the world itself would cry out in rage.

How blind and selfish he was, forfeiting both their lives for a few nights of passion. He truly was despicable.

Truth twisted like a knife in his stomach. Every inch of his body ached; his very blood seemed to boil in his veins. He closed his eyes, constricting to a mere shell of his former size. Slaughterer, terrorist, murderer. He was all those things and worse. The sight of the chantry burning, a pillar of flame erupting through the holiest place in Kirkwall, the smell of burning flesh and the screams of the dying flashed before him again, and again, and again as he realized what he had become. The monster he was; a mindless abomination controlled by the very spirit he was trying to save.

Abomination.

The word echoed in his mind louder than the thunder roared outside. But towering over everything he ever was or would become, was her: Tara Hawke – his angel and his nemesis.

The darkness coiled around him, every thought that bloomed in his mind poured salt over his torn heart. His own life was suddenly worthless. She was everything he never had, yet wanted more than anything in the world. She had to live. She had to live, and she had to be happy. He couldn't give in on her. Not now. She hated him. That he knew. He would've plunged his blade into his own heart if that would please her. But he lacked the heart to leave her. Only the thought of not knowing whether or not she lived tormented him. He had to make sure she was safe first. That may very well be his end. He didn't care. He would not fail her again. Slowly rising into a sitting position, his eyes searched the darkness for her again. Nowhere.

His eyes widened, his heart began racing, panic coursing through him. Without warning, a gentle hand was placed on his arm, sending an almost painful jolt through his body. In the blink of an eye he span around, his gaze meeting her face; an unreadable mask. For the first time since they had set out from Kirkwall, she spoke to him. An unusually firm, demanding tone;

"Why?"

Something changed in him. She could feel it in his very presence. The man that now stood next to her was not the same man that had destroyed an entire city and plunged the world into war. He was Anders, the healer, the kind-hearted soul that helped anyone in need without thought for a reward, the man that made her heart still in her chest and her breath catch in her throat, the love of her life.

The rain stopped. The clouds broke apart, allowing the moon to take her rightful place among the stars. Its silvery light was now flooding inside the barn, gently painting the canvas of the meadow in a whiter shade of pale.

Leaning closer, her eyes stroked this face; the clean, straight line of his jaw, the way his hair framed his face, his high cheekbones, the scruffy stubble he had grown, the way his lips were shaped, forming an almost perfect smile and... his eyes. His almond-shaped eyes were glittering, even in the dark. That amber shade she loved so much. How they warmed up whenever he smiled, or darkened with lust in the heat of passion.

How could so much beauty, host such hatred?

"Why didn't you trust me?" She moved her hand, ever so gently, over his. She wanted to hear it. She wanted to know the reason he betrayed her so ultimately.

Every muscle in his body tensed at the feel of her touch. How could she…? His eyes locked on her elegant, ivory hand gently placed over his gloved one. After all he had done, would she...? He looked up at her, confusion twirling in his eyes, along with a nameless fear. Her green eyes seemed to burn a hole right though him, regarding him with a look he had seen one too many times; concern.

His mind began drifting off to the night he had first met her. She had been brought to his clinic by her companions, maimed and bleeding, the worst mess he had seen since that little boy had been crushed by a mine cart. She was armored to the teeth, but she seemed so pale and fragile as he placed her on a cot, he could swear she would break apart in his arms. Her insides had been shredded to ribbons and he had almost used up his stock of lyrium potions working his damnest to save her, but he'd rather be tranquil than let her die. There was a light in her heart that shone even as she lay dying in front of him. Even Justice could sense it, and deemed her worthy of saving.

Later, when she came to, coughing blood and confused as hell, he couldn't help but smile. He'd saved one more life. She tilted her head as she looked him up and down and smiled crookedly.

„_Well, what do you know: you __**do**__ have killer eyes and a nice smile." _

He would never forget how readily she agreed to help him free Karl, or how she had smiled sadly and embraced him right after he's told her about merging with Justice, whispering _"I trust you." _ He would never forget how she listened to everything he had to say, how he couldn't stand two days going by without seeing her.

He wouldn't forget his nightmares either. Justice had always disapproved of her presence in the midst of his—their work, and he would always force Anders to back away from her, even as she waited for him with open arms. In the end, Justice had been the one to drive her away, to blackmail her into helping them and turning all the blades in Kirkwall towards her. He was not his friend anymore but Anders was sure he would be the end of him. He could not let him hurt her more than he already had. He would not live to see her blood on his hands as justice manipulated him into destroying her, into maiming her with his bare hands. Maker damn it he _would not_! He would rather take his own life than allow the monster inside him to harm a hair on her head.

His hands gripped hers tightly, shaking ever so gently, before letting go and using them as a cradle for his troubled mind. She drew back her hand, shuddering. The nightmare she saw in his eyes was too much to bear, even for him. She felt guilty for it, all this time all she had done was sit idle and hope he was strong enough. She went along with it, instead of pushing him to tell her what was wrong and what he was planning. Everything could have been avoided, if only she were strong enough to realize she was losing him.

With a resolve and a will of their own, her hands gently stroked his shoulders, while her arms wrapped themselves around him, holding him, as if afraid he would be torn to shreds if she let go.

Slowly, and reluctantly, his arms surrounded her body as well, clinging to her, ready to sacrifice anything just to let this moment live even for a blink of an eye more. She dimly became aware of his face pressed against her shoulder, desperately seeking comfort.

He let go of any other vestiges of control he had over his emotions. Moments later, tiny burning tears streamed their way into the crook of her neck. A simple touch of hers was all it took. She had shattered his very being, everything he believed in. He was a monster, yet he was blessed. Holding such a fragile, pure being in his arms… He was afraid. Holding too tight would kill her. Letting go would kill him. She sighed, gently running her hand across his back, up to the nape of his neck, stroking his head, as if to soothe the demons inside. His head on her shoulder, her hand in his hair, they stood still. Away from the eyes and the hatred of the World, embraced by the light of the Moon, each encased in the other. Two hearts entwined, lost in a moment, a moment lost in time, yet never forgotten.


End file.
